


Scratching an Itch

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29488566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: Written for MFUWSS challenge, Scratching an Itch. Napoleon has one and needs relief.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	Scratching an Itch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akane42me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akane42me/gifts).



It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He’d tried food, drink, even sex and still it remained. Nothing was helping and it was making Napoleon just a little crazy. Short of throwing himself off a building, he was lost for an answer,

“Or more crazy than normal,” Napoleon muttered. He sighed and tried to go someplace in his mind – a place with sufficient itching for all.

Illya didn’t even bother to look. One of them had to be on the ball and get their paperwork in on time. Waverly might be willing to give them some wiggle room, but Illya had no intention of taking on the typing pool. 

He had seen what happened to agents who got on their bad side. Reports went missing or the carbons were blurry. Once he’d even knew of a report and all its notes that had been flushed. He would have thought it just a rumor, but he was collared to supervise the plumbers. What was eventually pulled out was a total write off. 

“Perhaps if you tried to stop thinking about it,” he muttered around the pencil in his mouth. 

“I can’t. It’s all I think about – day and night. I want… well, you know what I want. Remember when you got fixated on chocolate-covered cherries.”

“I remember how sick I got – that has since tempered my enthusiasm.”

“But before then, all you could talk about was getting a box. Never mind that it was entirely the wrong time of the year for them.”

“I still say they were spoiled.”

“Candy doesn’t spoil. At least not with you around.” Napoleon was up and pacing the short span of their office.

“Napoleon, go to the shooting range, go exercise. I’d say get some coffee, but that’s the last thing you need.” Illya snapped his fingers. “Why don’t you go down to Section 8?”

“The lab?”

“I was thinking more of checking out the latest models. George tells me they are something else.”

Napoleon took in a breath as a hiss. “I don’t know.”

“Humor me.” He gestured to the paperwork. “I need to concentrate. Then, I promise I will help you with that itch.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

It seemed forever before Illya’s familiar shape loomed on the horizon. Napoleon nearly wept. “Finally.”

Illya looked around, the familiar sights and smells of the lab welcoming and homey. “What’s wrong?”

“They’ve had me cataloging slides.”

“I would have preferred that to dealing with your notes.” Illya gestured and Napoleon was on his heels.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace with a little privacy.”

Napoleon grinned at that. “Oh?”

“And we will leave it at that.” Illya looked both left and right as he reached for the switch. Napoleon automatically looked as well. “In here.”

Napoleon stepped through and stopped in front of a small table. There was a basin, gauze, and surgical implements. “Illya?”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life… if necessary”

“That’ll do. Now hold still. This shouldn’t hurt a bit.” Illya held up a saw and Napoleon paled. 

Napoleon felt moisture on his face and smiled through his tears. The relief was total and absolute. It slid down his body and then back, caressing and encompassing him in contentment.

“Better?” Illya finished rinsing his hands. “Now when it gets bad, you’ll know what to do.”

“How did you…?”

“Saw it done in Paris once or twice.”

“This is brilliant. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Then buy me dinner instead.”

“Anywhere you want. Why don’t they do this all the time?” Napoleon looked down at the heavy cast that had been removed from his arm. In its place was a u-shaped piece of plaster held in place with an elastic bandage.

“No idea. It makes perfect sense to me when it’s a simple break like yours. Now you can take that off and soak your arm, put lotion on it—“

“Itch it.” Napoleon ran his hand over the bandage, smiling at the feeling.

“Yes, even itch it.” Illya gathered up the plaster saw and the other supplies. “I will return these and meet you in Reception. If anyone asks, you woke up in an alley with your arm like that.”

Napoleon tapped the side of his nose and grinned. “Gotcha.”

“Then we’ll take about a different sort of itch.”

Napoleon blinked at that, frowning. “Different sort? Illya? Illya?!”

But he was alone with his thoughts and his itch…


End file.
